In roughly 30 days, our new editor starts and Lee will start packing up. And some of his duties will definitely be mine until he gets settled … or permanently. I still don’t know which.
One of our new reporters will start the same day. Hopefully, we’ll at least have one more lined up, as we’ve down three at the moment.
One of our new copy editors will be about a month in. I sat next to him in Jacksonville. I don’t know how many times I need to reiterate that my life is a bad Charles Dickens novel.
If everything falls into place perfectly, my car, Nicole, will be paid off in enough time for me to blow that money I haven’t seen in the past six years on my brithiversary week.
Bill and Karen get married next weekend. A week from now, I’ll be drinking in Richmond with our mutual CNU friends and his Chester friends who have become my friends, just like old times. And then we’ll have the Great CNU Wedding. It’s about time: Bill said a few years ago that he never has to worry about anyone telling embarrassing college stories in front of Karen because she was there for all of them.
But I need to remember that, although we’ll be amongst friends, I cannot swear if I speak during the reception. I had a dirty mouth going into journalism and, in that field, swearing is a badge of honor. I’m typically mortified when I’m near anyone’s children. Or get into an animated conversation with my mother.
The second half of this year is going to be different in a good way. But everything feels so strange. It’s hard to believe that it’s been five years since my first full year in Chimborazo, that it’s about to be 11 years since I sat on a couch on Deep Creek Road in Newport News and decided to chronicle senior year in college, that the woman who is sleeping in the other room while I play the Cake discography and stay up at least 30 more minutes because I don’t need to be at work until 2 p.m. is the woman I met 13 years ago because I got lost.
This week, I spotted my first grey hair north of my eyeglasses.
I made a half-joke about 15 years ago on Wednesday, and it stopped being a joke when I realized 15 years ago was 16-going-on-17.
But it’s not a problem, because if you asked me exactly 13 years ago today where I saw myself in late April 2015, I would have said sitting on the couch I share with that woman I’d been dating all of two months.
Hooray for being right about the future at time.